


Headlong into the Storm

by raewrite



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Kinda, Mutual Pining, Other, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-09-12 23:50:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16881609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raewrite/pseuds/raewrite
Summary: A botched job forces the gang to pack up and move out before the law has a chance to catch up with them. The ensuing journey through a blizzard leads to less-than-ideal circumstances for two complete fools who can't just say they love each other.(This story takes place before the events of RDR2 by at least a year.)





	1. Move Out

It had been three days since the gang’s departure from the plains where they had last settled. The promise of a good payout from the more remote ranches on the grasslands had been far too tempting to pass up, and the group had taken up residence in a patch of trees nestled comfortably on a creek not too far from a small stockyard town. The pickings were good for the first couple of weeks, what with the wandering herds of pronghorn antelope and the decently stocked general store in town, but prosperity never seems to last for the Van der Linde Gang. 

Now, you rode bundled in your winter coat through the falling snow of the mountains you and the others had fled into, your breath puffing out in front of your reddened nose. The frigid evening air was a stark contrast to the prairie breeze you’d felt just a few nights prior. As the wagons clattered along around you, your mind wandered back to the chaos of the past few days.

The morning itself had been crisp and unassuming, with the sun alighting on the tall, dewy grass and the thin mist that had settled over the creek. You had set about feeding the horses while Pearson worked up a warm breakfast, whistling as he set the pot over the fire to come to a boil. There was a spark of excitement running through the camp that morning, and for good reason. The night previous, Sean and Javier had rode into camp with fire in their eyes. You had heard them speaking excitedly to Dutch over by his tent, the ecstatic jumps in their voices drawing the attentions of Arthur and John nearby. The scraps of their conversation you managed to catch over the drone of the phonograph and the crackling pops from the campfire you and the other women shared told of a particularly successful ranch just to the south by a few miles. Sean had heard rumor in town that the owner had just sold off a sizable head of cattle, and was likely sitting on a nice stack of cash for it. Without much need for persuasion, Dutch had given them his blessing to head out that evening to see what they could find. 

The morning before a heist was always full of chatter from everyone, regardless of whether or not they were taking part. Upon finishing your chores, you had wandered over to Arthur’s tent, where he was sitting on his cot and running an oiled rag over the barrel of his shotgun, humming softly to himself. Nearby you could hear Sean talking excitedly about the plan to Bill and Uncle, both of whom barely seemed to listen. When Arthur caught sight of you, he scooted over a bit for you to sit. You were both quiet for a few moments — you had mastered the art of companionable silence, you and him — before you asked when he thought they would be coming back. Dutch had told Arthur to go with the younger gang members and keep them in line, which was more than understandable considering both Sean and John were adamant that they go.

“I’d say we could be back by morning, so long as everything goes smoothly,” Arthur sighed, casting a look of apprehension over towards the chattering irishman across the way. When he looked back at you, he caught the unease in your eyes. “Hey,” he said softly, “don’t worry. The ranch we’re hittin’ is too far from town for the law to be showin’ up at the first sign of trouble. Hell, we’ll be in and out before the owner even figures out what happened.” He gave you a small nudge in the arm, trying to draw you out from your distress.

You knew he wasn’t one to speak so flippantly about a job, no matter how easy it seemed on paper, and that he was just brushing the matter off to make you feel better, but you just couldn’t help but worry anyway. You always did. Despite that, his words _had_ eased your mind a bit.

When sundown came, the boys loaded up and unhitched their horses. Before he could hoist himself up into his saddle, you grabbed Arthur by the arm and made him look you in the eye. This had become common practice between the two of you. You still weren’t quite sure where your relationship stood, but that wouldn’t stop you from tugging him towards you and making him promise to come back safe, and, more importantly, to not do anything stupid.

“I won’t do anything you wouldn’t,” he replied, keeping his voice low as a smirk tugged at his lips. There was a fond sparkle in his eye as he pulled you into a quick hug, just brief enough for no one to notice, at least you hoped. When he was situated on his horse, he looked back down at you as you reached up. Arthur took your hand in his own and squeezed gently, before taking the reins and pulling his horse into a turn. You went to stand by Tilly and Abigail as you all watched them ride away.

* * *

 

You were drawn back to the present by the sound of Dutch’s voice calling out to you and Javier, cutting through the wind that whipped around the wagons. You urged your horse forward to pace alongside the cart manned by Hosea where Dutch perched in the shotgun seat. 

“I need you two to go and scout ahead a ways. See if theres any place we can make camp until this storm dies down,” he hollered, giving you a wave to send you off. “Be careful out there! We’re in unfamiliar country. The snow should cover you, but you never know what’s out there.”

With little more instruction needed, you and Javier spurred your horses ahead of the wagon train, waving to the others as you passed. You managed to catch Arthur’s eye as he looked on from his seat next to Charles. He tipped his hat as you rode onwards. 

Once the procession was far behind you, you turned to Javier as the two of you galloped ahead. “Hey, so what exactly _did_ happen out on that homestead?” you called over the scarf you had pulled up over your nose. In the chaos of breaking camp and getting out of the countryside before the lawmen could track you, you hadn’t gotten the details of the botched heist. From the way Arthur and Javier had been acting made you think that it was by some fault of Sean, which didn’t surprise you in the slightest, but you still wanted to know _exactly_ why you were now freezing your ass off in this God-forsaken valley. 

You heard Javier sigh heavily from behind his bandana, his shoulders slumping forward at the memory. “I don’t know,” he shouted back. “Everything seemed like it was going fine until MacGuire started howling like a banshee from inside the house. I was keeping watch outside while Arthur and him went in through the back. John was hiding by the garden out front, and I _thought_ we were gonna keep this one clean, but next thing we know gunshots are goin’ off and Sean starts yelling, and…” Javier stopped to rub at his face, his brows furrowing as he groaned and exhaled. You gave him a tight, knowing smile.

“Hey, its alright,” you said, trying to put some empathy behind it as you called over the gale, “shit happens.”

You thought you heard him laugh next to you. “Yeah, _shit happens_.”

The past three days had been hard on everyone. The gang had hardly stopped once since leaving the prairie, which, when paired with the winter weather you endured now, was cause for everyone’s exhaustion and short temper. You felt particularly bad for Javier and Arthur, who were easily the most upset about the whole ordeal. John wasn’t exactly pleased either, but he was never one to mind up and leaving at a moment’s notice. 

The two of you continued on quietly for a while longer, not wanting to dwell much more on your circumstances. After an hour or so, Javier sat up straighter on his horse. You looked up as he pointed out in front of you. “You see that?” he called.

Ahead of you, you could just make out the silhouette of a structure through the snow. From where you stood, you could see no lights coming from it or anywhere else nearby, which was promising. Javier spurred his horse forward to investigate, with you following close behind. Getting closer you realized you had stumbled across an old barn, its timbers rough with age, but still standing. You stayed out front while Javier checked the perimeter, and when he came back around with nothing, you both hopped from your horses to see if you could get the large sliding doors open. 

“Hey, maybe our luck is changing, huh?” he joked as he tied his horse’s reins to a half-rotted post.

“If this is what you call luck, I’m afraid you have a skewed sense of fortune, my friend.” Javier just laughed, despite everything. 

“On my count,” you said, digging your feet into the snow to find traction. Javier did the same. “One, two, _three!_ ” You both pushed forward with all your combined strength, leaning your bodies into it to get the door to budge. Nothing happened. You tried twice more before falling back to catch your breath. Javier tipped his hat up, his bandana having fallen from his nose.

“Maybe we should just wait. The others will be here before long,” he heaved between breaths. “Between the rust and the ice, this ain’t budging for just the two of us.” You nodded and looked back down the trail you had forged for the wagon train, then up at the surrounding trees. You weren’t entirely sure of where you were at, and the valley was too unfamiliar for your comfort. This barn had been long-abandoned, but why? Sure, the owners could’ve died or have just moved on, but that didn’t make you feel any better. 

“I think I’m gonna do some more scouting,” you stated after a moment’s contemplation. “I won’t go far, just wanna make sure there’s nothing else nearby. You’ll be alright here by yourself?”

Javier looked at you quizzically, but decided against arguing. He’d learned quick that none of the women in the group were your average housewives, and you in particular would gladly take on any labor the other men would, just to prove you could, if anything. He watched as you mounted your horse once more. “Just be careful, alright? Try not to go too far,” he said wearily, pulling his bandana back up to brace against the cold while he waited.

“I’ll try to be back before it gets too dark,” you replied over your shoulder, giving a wave. You patted your horse on her neck before digging in your spurs and galloping headlong into the storm.


	2. Advice in a Snowstorm

The first thing that Arthur noticed about the abandoned farmstead was that you weren’t in it.

He tried to quell the knot of anxiety in the pit of his stomach that had manifested upon his seeing you ride ahead on Dutch’s orders, but it only grew when the only person he saw out in front of the barn, waving down the wagon train, was Javier. Despite the worry nagging at him, he decided to keep his mouth shut until he had a proper look around.

Dutch jumped from his wagon to survey the area, hands on his hips in some sort of show of defiance towards the harshness of the valley. Arthur looked around himself, as the sound of Javier enlisting the help of Charles, John and Lenny to help him pry the barn doors open drifted over to him on the biting wind. On the other side of the clearing laid the remains of what he could only assume to be the farm house itself, now nothing more than a pile of stone and rotting wood on a snow-covered foundation.  

Arthur climbed down from the wagon just as Dutch came sauntering over to him with far too much spring in his step for a man on the run in at least a foot of snow.  “This looks like a good a place as any to weather a storm, eh Arthur?” he exclaimed, patting the other man on the shoulder. Despite the utter failure of the job a few days previous, Dutch had been nothing but amiable after the initial whirlwind of getting out of the prairie before the law could catch up. To any outsider his behavior may have seemed off-putting, but Arthur knew better than anyone that the gang’s leader was just trying to keep the peace amid a tempest of anxiety and ill temperaments that was affecting everyone in one way or another. Calling names and pointing fingers was reserved for the mistakes made in times of relative peace, and not when the structural integrity of the gang was truly in peril. Just as it was now.

“It’ll have to do,” Arthur replied gruffly, pulling his old coat tighter around his shoulders. A great crash and rumble signaled the barn doors finally being slid open, their metal frames scraping noisily along their rusted tracks as the men pulled them back. No further cues were needed for everyone to gather inside out of the wind.

The interior of the barn matched the outside; old boards, soaked through and splintered, were held together by long-rusted over nails, and there were a few holes in the roof, but nothing too terrible. While it was by no means the most sound place to take shelter in, it was leagues better than trying to hunker down in one of the wagons.

As the gang filed in out of the cold with the cases of food and blankets, Arthur made his way over to Javier, who was hauling in two crates of medicine from Strauss’ wagon. Taking one box from on top of the other, Arthur fell in step next to the gunman.

“I know what you’re gonna ask, Arthur,” Javier quipped, readjusting the case in his hands and smirking. “Y/n rode out to scout the area when we got here. She’s been gone maybe an hour now.”

Arthur looked taken aback, though he did his best to cover his concern. “Well, did she say when she would be comin’ back?” It sounded stupid out loud, even to him.

Javier held back a laugh, deciding to take mercy on the man after the week they’d had. Just about everyone knew Arthur had a soft spot a mile wide for you, even if Arthur himself would never outright admit to it, and now wasn’t the time to be making jibes, lighthearted as they would be.

“She said she’d try to be back before it gets dark. I don’t think she planned on goin’ out too far, just checking the woods around here.” Despite his assurances, Javier saw the concern cross Arthur’s face. He was already tense from their escape, and now fretting over you made him all the more anxious. “Hey,” Javier said after a moment’s silence, “you know her. She’ll be alright.” He elbowed Arthur in the arm as he headed back out to the wagons. “She’s probably on her way back now.”

“Thanks, Javier,” was all Arthur could think to muster up. He continued to help unload the wagons and hitch the horses under the shed’s roof around the side of the barn, but his mind wandered to the edge of the clearing, where he saw the faint tracks from your horse leading out into the woods.

After another half hour or so, everyone had gathered inside the barn, the wagons having been brought around the back to keep them out of the worst of the wind. Inside the barn was a hayloft, that was (thankfully) free of moldy straw. It had been Hosea who climbed up first to see if it was stable, and when he gave the ‘all clear,’ the women wasted no time making their roost away from where the men had set down their cots and blankets.

Once the gang had settled in, huddling themselves away in the stables and by the walls, Dutch stood to make one of his speeches in an attempt to rouse their spirits. Arthur didn’t catch much of it as he stood by the door, falling into old habits and keeping watch. The skies were overcast with thick, oppressive clouds that obscured the mountain tops, and snow continued to fall, although it was a bit lighter than it had been earlier. But that did little to assuage the unease that gnawed at him.

Arthur was pulled from his thoughts by his name being called by Dutch. “Arthur, I need you and Charles to take first watch. I know you’re tired, but we all are,” he turned and gestured to the rest of the gang, “and we _all_ must do our part,” he said a bit louder, making sure he still had everyone’s attention. Arthur didn’t complain, he was much too restless to sit idle in the barn anyway. He shouldered his rifle as Mary Beth got up from her place by one of the lanterns to hand him and Charles a couple of blankets. He mumbled his thanks and headed outside.

* * *

 

Deciding that no one would try and follow the gang through the mountain pass in the storm, Arthur and Charles deemed it safe enough to make a small fire out in front of the barn. Leaning against the doors with guns in hand, the two men sat quietly and gazed out over the snow-covered homestead, their eyes scanning the clearing and following the line of the half-fallen barbwire fence to the edge of the woods. All was silent save for the whistling of the wind and the thoughts plaguing Arthur’s mind. He _knew_ you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, but that didn’t mean something couldn’t go wrong, especially in unfamiliar territory. In a snow storm. Near a decent farmstead abandoned under unknown circumstances.

Arthur’s thoughts were once again interrupted, this time by Charles standing to stretch. “I’m going to go walk around the house foundation. See if anything got left behind,” he stated, patting his sidearm and starting that way. Arthur nodded.

Not long after, the barn door cracked open just enough for Hosea to slip out and sit down by the fire. “Hey, Arthur.”

“Hosea.”

“You doin’ alright out here? Figured a fire in the snow would be warmer than a lamp in the barn.” Hosea settled against the door, rifle in his lap. Arthur hummed in agreement.

The air was thick with tension from everyone, but it radiated especially from Arthur, Hosea had noticed. He was pretty sure he knew why, too.

“What’s eatin’ at you, Arthur?” he asked, taking on that fatherly tone he knew always got the younger man to talk.

Arthur sighed heavily and rubbed at his face, pushing his hat up to run a hand through his hair before pulling it down again. “I don’t know… I have half a mind to ride out there myself. We don’t _know_ this place, and she’s _by herself_. I know she’s smart, but…”

“So why don’t you just go?” Arthur hadn’t been expecting the question. He was struck silent for a moment, scrambling to gather his thoughts.

“I guess… I… I don’t know, Hosea,” he finally admitted. “I guess I don’t want her to think I was worried? Or, well…” Arthur sighed again, heavier this time. “Thats not really it.”

“You don’t want her to know you _care_.” Arthur rested his face in his palm. Hosea gave an all too knowing smile and rested his hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

They sat like that for a little while, staring into the fire. Hosea had always been good at drawing out Arthur’s thoughts and making sense of them, even if Arthur himself hadn’t even realized they needed to be made sense of.

“You should talk to ‘er.”

Arthur just hummed into his hand. Hosea took that as his agreement, half-hearted as it was, and smiled.

Then, just as they had settled back into a comfortable silence, three shots rang out in the valley, one followed by two others in quick, resonating succession. Arthur and Hosea were on their feet in an instant, their gazes snapping to the tree line, where your trail led out into the unknown.

“ _What in— Arthur!”_ Before Hosea could catch the other man’s arm, Arthur had already shouldered his rifle and broken into a sprint towards the horses. He pulled the reins free from where they were tied and threw them over his horse’s head, one foot already in the stirrup. Dutch and the others yanked open the barn door, guns drawn, just as Arthur turned his mount out onto your trail and dug his spurs in with a harsh call to urge her into a run.

The shouts of the other gang members echoed behind him as Arthur rode into the storm after you.


	3. Lantern Burning Low

The valley was far too quiet for Arthur’s tastes. The peace would have been a welcomed change after the past three days spent on the road with everyone watching constantly over their shoulders, but now it just made Arthur more uneasy as he followed your horse’s trail through the woods as the sun slowly set behind the thick clouds overhead. He tried to keep his frustration in check as he urged Boadicea to go as fast as she could through the snow, steering her to stay in line with the path you had already cut to make the journey easier. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as every bend he took only led to more trail to follow, and fear began creep into Arthur’s racing thoughts.

He _knew_ he should have said something when he saw you ride ahead on Dutch’s orders; should have handed the reins over to Charles, should have hopped on his own horse to go with you, should have been there to stop you from going out alone. Hosea’s voice rang in his head. _He should have told you he cared_. Before any of this. Not when he saw you off in the storm, not when he came riding back to camp like a bat out of hell, not even when he sat with you on his cot that morning. Before any of that.

Confessions shouldn’t take their cues from gunshots in the night. If only he had realized that sooner, he wondered.

Arthur shook his head. He couldn’t afford to dwell on it, he had the present situation to focus on. Distantly, he thought he could hear voices behind him, but the wind whipping by his ears distorted them, and he trusted that it was the gang following him into the storm.

Pushing onwards, Arthur eventually came upon another clearing in the trees, smaller than the one around the homestead, and in the middle he could make out two dark shapes lying motionless in the snow. His stomach dropped, but he steeled his nerve and slowed his horse to survey the scene. Moving closer, he could see that there were really three bodies before him; one lying alone, his blood trickling into the snow, and the other pinned under the body of his horse, both shot dead. From where he stood, Arthur couldn’t see any regalia that would suggest the two men were part of any sort of gang, at least not any he knew of, and he decided that inspecting further would only be time wasted at the moment. The tracks around the men were all over the place, with one set veering off into the trees back the way he guessed the riders came, while the other led off to the southeast.

A fresh wave of dread washed over Arthur as he cursed himself for having possibly passed you by, and in one fluid motion, he pulled Boadicea into the turn and set off once more through the ever-falling snow. He began to call out your name, deciding that he would just deal with any other undesirables who heard him if it meant finding you faster. The trees began to close in again and it dawned on Arthur how dark it was getting. He dug in his spurs and urged his horse to move a bit faster.

Upon rounding a small rock face and calling your name again, Arthur caught sight of something glowing faintly in the snow out ahead of him. Pushing forward, he could make out what looked like a horse standing with its head bowed, but with no rider. Before his own horse could come to a complete stop, Arthur slid from his saddle and trudged over to where your dying lantern lay. Your horse was sniffing at a shivering bundle on the ground, half-concealed by the snow.

Arthur’s mind blanked, and he stopped dead. Part of him hadn’t known what he was expecting, but now all the evening’s events were culminating into his worst fears upon hearing those gunshots echo through the valley. He stumbled forward and knelt to turn you over, your name barely leaving his lips as he hesitantly tugged at your shoulder.

You gasped raggedly and suddenly your revolver was leveled with Arthur’s chest. Arthur leaned back on instinct, raising his hands. He could see your hands trembling and the dull look in your eyes as you tried to focus on his face.

“Y/n, _it’s me_ , it’s Arthur.” He tried to keep his voice calm and even, watching as realization dawned on your face. “You can put the gun down, darlin’.”

You lowered your hands shakily, letting the revolver fall into the snow. “ _Arthur?_ ” you breathed, letting yourself rest back against the tree you sat under. Your hands went immediately to your side, and Arthur was quick to notice the dark stain bleeding through your coat. “It ain’t pretty, Arthur,” you whimpered.

_Oh, hell_.

Arthur wasted no time. “Move yer hands, sweetheart,” he muttered, moving close and trying to get a better look at where the bullet had torn a hole straight through you. You wheezed and sputtered when he pressed his hands over the wound, and he murmured apologies as he looked around for something to help staunch the blood flow, settling for the scarf he wore that one of the girls had given to him. He was sure Mary-Beth would understand.

After he finished tying off the makeshift bandage, he took hold of your hands and placed them back over your side. “Keep pressure on it, jus’ like that, c’mon,” he encouraged. Through the fogginess that had overtaken your senses, you noticed how Arthur was avoiding looking you in the eye, too taken with the task at hand, and you vaguely decided that he was rather cute like this, with brows furrowed and green eyes focused and sharp. Everything _hurt_ , but suddenly the situation itself didn’t seem so bad, though the still-rational voice in your head chalked it up to your own delirium and blood-loss. You found yourself smirking dazedly regardless.

Arthur didn’t seem to notice. He gathered you up and hefted you into his arms without much of a warning, causing you to grimace as a new wave of pain radiated from your side. He kept muttering reassurances under his breath, and you began to wonder if they were more for you or himself.

“Yer gonna be _fine_ , Y/n, yer gonna be fine.” He lifted you up onto the back of his horse, making sure you were steady before climbing up as well, situating himself in front of you on the saddle and letting you rest against his back. Despite the jostling, you already felt yourself drifting off again, and you hummed in half-hearted response.

Arthur adjusted the reins for one hand, using his other to hold your arm in place as you wrapped it around his torso. Without delay, he spurred Boadicea once more into a gallop, turning back the way you had come.

The woodlands around you blurred past as you tried to keep your head up, and Arthur could feel you leaning heavily against him. “I need ya t’ stay awake, Y/n,” he called over his shoulder. “Was that you who took down those two fellas just ahead? How’d you manage that?”

He felt you nod as you cleared your throat. “Yeah, they — they came ridin’ up through the storm and… an’ I barely even saw ‘em comin’, not ’til we were right up on each other,” you mumbled, trying your best to keep your eyes open. You knew from the waver in his voice that he was worried. You _hated_ it when the others worried.

“I take it they weren’t so friendly,” Arthur quipped. You groaned, your cheek pressing against his shoulder.

When you came upon the clearing with the bodies, Arthur could make out the figures of Dutch, Hosea, and Charles as they checked over the dead men in the snow. He hollered to them that he had found you over the wind, which caused Charles and Hosea to perk up and trudge up to Arthur’s horse.

“We’re headed back to camp,” Arthur said hurriedly, gesturing over his shoulder at you. “One of those boys tagged ‘er pretty good in the side. Her horse is still up that way.” He pointed down your trail, and you saw Charles nod. You wanted to say something, to thank them for coming to find you, but it was getting harder to focus, and you felt the horse moving beneath you. Before you knew it, you were racing through the woods once more.

The fatigue was finally starting to get the better of you, and dimly you heard Arthur talking to you over his shoulder. “We’re almost there, Y/n. The barn is just up here, everything’s gonna be just fine.” He sounded miles away now. You wanted to tell him to stop fussing, to just let you rest.

You wanted to tell him to _stop worrying about you_.

But you never did get your chance.


	4. No Trouble At All

Your memories of the days following your incident were foggy at best.

You could remember the pain, of course, though it was more of a constant, dull ache rather than the sharp, burning pain you had felt when you had first been shot. Still, it was less than desirable.

You could remember voices—snippets of conversations in hushed tones floating just beyond your comprehension. Understanding the words had been out of the question at the time, but the humming in your ears carried notes of worry and distress and frustration. You remember feeling vaguely remorseful for making them fret, but mostly you just remember feeling tired.

You must have woken up a few times, because you remember the light being different. On one occasion, everything seemed dark, with only slivers of silvery-gray light coming from above. Another time, you remember a warm, orange glow coming from somewhere nearby, and a quiet murmuring that had to have been close, but you couldn’t recall seeing the owner of the voice.

The first truly cognizant memory you had was of waking to see two figures sitting by you. Upon blinking some of the sleep from your eyes, you realized that it was Hosea lounging in a chair, reading a book at your bedside while Tilly perched on the edge of your cot, her hands working a needle delicately through the piece of cloth she was holding. You were covered up to your chest in a thick, red and white quilt that you recognized as one of Miss Grimshaw’s.

You said nothing, though not for lack of trying. When you tried to get their attention, your voice came out as little more than a dry wheeze that made your throat burn. Thankfully, Hosea had noticed your poor attempt at communication, leaning forward and placing his book face-down on the ground beside him.

“There you are, dear,” he said warmly, beckoning for Tilly to help you as he grabbed a canteen from somewhere out of your line of sight.

Tilly set her sewing down and moved to sit by your head, carefully coaxing you to sit up a bit. “Hey, Y/n,” she spoke softly. You tried to give her a smile, which quickly turned to a grimace as you dragged yourself upwards. Tilly was quick to push the bed-roll-turned-pillow up behind you so that you could rest back against the wall. Settling back down, Tilly took the canteen Hosea had grabbed and held it up to your lips, helping you drink, her free hand resting gently under your chin.

“How ya feelin’?” asked Hosea once you had gotten your fill and cleared your throat. He had pulled his chair up a little closer, crossing one leg over the other.

“Like I got shot, I suppose,” you deadpanned, though there was a hint of a smirk on your face. Just sitting up had left you feeling more exhausted than you had in a long time, and you looked around the barn with half-lidded eyes. Across the way you could see Lenny and Mary-Beth sitting at one of Pearson’s makeshift tables and chatting quietly over what looked like a game of dominos. With them sat Sean, who had his seat pulled out and a rifle laying over his knees. He ran an oiled rag over it as he watched Lenny make a play, adding in his own commentary as he did so.

Carefully, you ran a hand over your midsection, feeling the thick padding of gauze and bandages under your shirt. “How bad…?” You winced as you pressed your fingers a bit too hard against your side.

Hosea gave you a sympathetic look. “It wasn’t too terrible, nothing we couldn’t take care of, anyway. Frankly, we were more afraid the cold was gonna get ya, once we got you patched up.” You nodded, looking down.

“Those boys I crossed, did y’all find any more of them?”

“No, no more of them. Arthur found their camp to the north a ways. They seem to have been the only ones, but we’ve been keeping an eye out for more in case they were just the scouts.” Hosea picked his book up off the ground and dog-eared the page.

“So… everyone else ‘s alright?” Hosea cocked an eyebrow at you as you cleared your throat, watching as your hands fretted at the edge of the quilt.

“Sure. You didn’t exactly leave anyone alive to do us harm, Y/n.” He studied your face as some of the tension in your shoulders receded.

You felt some relief. Worry had been gnawing at you relentlessly ever since the morning of the botched heist. You had been worried when the boys had left, you had been worried when they came racing back late that night, and you had been worried all through your flight through the foothills and into the mountain pass. Life on the run had made you hyperaware of the fragility that could be brought upon the gang in times of uncertainty. Sure, you all had always managed to get through hard times with the family still in tact, but that never stopped you from worrying that one day your luck would run out. The gang was all you had, and losing them would be like losing the very thing that gave you purpose.

You nodded to Hosea, resting your head back and letting a slow breath out through your nose. “How long do you think we’ll be holed up here?” you ask after a few beats of silence, deciding it was best to change the subject. Hosea seemed to catch on.

“Well, Dutch wants to move once the weather lets up, but so long as we don’t get anymore trouble from anyone, I think this is a good a place as any to lay low for a little while,” he said, adjusting himself in his chair. “There seems to be plenty of game in this valley to hold us over, so I don’t see why we couldn’t. It may be miserable, but it’s worth not seeing any of our own hanged back south.”

“If Sean had just kept his mouth shut, we wouldn’t need to be out here at all,” quipped Tilly from beside you. You gave her a tired smile.

“That may be so, my dear, but what’s done is done. No going back now,” Hosea returned, his gaze falling back to the book in his hands.

You smirked at the both of them, your eyes sliding shut as Tilly settled against you, letting you lean against her side. The muffled sound of the howling wind mingling with your body’s own exhaustion had you feeling drowsy and languid.

Before long, you had nodded off once again as the storm outside raged ever onwards.

* * *

 

A couple days later found you sitting on your cot at the back of the barn, quilt around your shoulders with Mary-Beth and Tilly sat on either side of you. Tilly had one arm encircling yours as she continued on with some embroidery she had started to pass the time, her head resting against your shoulder while she worked. Mary-Beth was pressed up against your opposite side with her knees drawn up to prop her journal. She was writing out what you guessed was another one of her stories, and every now and again she would break your companionable silence to ask for an adjective or if a sentence sounded alright.

You sat reclined against the wall, watching passively as the other gang members went about their business. Bill sat by the barn door, dozing with his rifle against his hip, while Javier strummed idly on his guitar nearby, trying to shake the cold that had settled into his hands from being on watch.

A gust of chilled air blew in suddenly as the barn door creaked open just enough for a single figure to slip in. Beside you, Tilly drew her knees up a bit on instinct, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

Across the way, you watched as Arthur took his hat from his head and shook the the snow from its brim, stomping the ice from his boots as he did so. Blinking and looking around the barn’s dimly lit interior, he nudged Bill in the shoulder to rouse him from his nap, mumbling something to him about being on watch.

Gazing across the barn as he pulled his gloves off, Arthur met your eyes when he looked towards your cot. You nearly diverted your own gaze on instinct, but he caught you by surprise when he shot you a tired little smile and a wave. The two of you hadn’t talked much at all since you had woken up, and you couldn’t tell if it was simply because he was busy most of the day with hunting and keeping watch, or if he was actively avoiding you. Rationality told you it was the former, but your own wounded pride told you it was the latter. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed about your whole ordeal out in the valley; like you had only brought an unneeded tension to an already shaken up group of outlaws on the run.

You gave him a little wave in return, watching as he made his way over to where he had set up his own cot. Sighing through your nose, you tried not to dwell on your own anxieties too much, instead returning your attention to Mary-Beth’s writing.

“When are you two gonna quit moping around and just talk to each other, huh?” You were startled out of your repose when Tilly spoke up from beside you. You turned your head to see her frowning up at you.

“What do you mean by that?” you stalled, unsure of what else you could say.

Tilly rolled her eyes. “ _I mean_ you and Arthur have been dancin’ around each other for months, Y/n.”

“Uhh…”

“She’s got a point, Y/n,” came Mary-Beth’s voice from your other side. “I know I shouldn’t be one to talk, but the two of you are just too awkward for your own good.” Tilly hummed in agreement and your cheeks burned.

“You’re never gonna get anywhere with him if you keep on like this.”

You suddenly had the urge to pull the quilt up over your head to hide how flustered you had become.

“It ain’t that _simple_ ,” you tried to argue, looking to both of them for some kind of understanding. “It’s just… _he_ just… _ohh_ ,” you muffled your sigh of defeat in the quilt, bringing it up and pressing your face into it. You felt Tilly pat your arm.

“He doesn’t _need_ someone like… _me,_ ” you said dejectedly, keeping your eyes down as Mary-Beth coaxed your hands away from your face.

“Y/n, you could ask anyone here, and they would all tell you that Arthur fancies you.”

“And we’ve _all_ seen the way he looks at you.”

“I don’t think—”

“He’s _hopeless_ , Y/n.” Your heart leapt into your throat when Javier’s voice cut in, and you turned to see him smirking at you, his fingers hovering over the frets of his guitar. You heard Mary-Beth giggle beside you. “You know, when he first got here, the first thing he asked about was you. He looked like a lost puppy when I told him you went out scouting.”

“He’s head-over-heels.”

“And _you’re_ no better.”

“You _gotta_ talk to him.”

“ _Okay!_ ”

You huffed out another sigh, looking between the three of them and feeling severely outnumbered. Tilly, Mary-Beth and Javier all watched you expectantly, each with varying degrees of smugness and delight. Relenting, you let your shoulders fall forward and your head fall back against the wall, your eyes sliding shut.

“ _Alright._ I’ll… try to figure _somethin’_ out.”

* * *

 

Another week passed, and you found yourself sitting on watch by the little campfire just outside the barn doors. The wind howled angrily through the clearing as night fell over the snow-covered valley, and you watched wearily as two riders came galloping in from the tree-line. You recognized Hosea and Arthur atop their horses, wrapped in their thick coats with rifles slung over their shoulders. As they approached the shed-side of the barn, you could see two large bundles, one on the back of each horse. _Supper_.

Your stomach rumbled at the prospect of a warm meal. You needed no thermometer to know it must have been close to freezing outside, and you were more than ready to trade your post as watchman for a cozy space in the barn. It wouldn’t be much warmer, you knew, but at least you’d be out of the wind.

Snippets of conversation made their way to you from around the side of the barn where Pearson had set up his station, though you made no effort to eavesdrop, opting instead to draw your over-sized coat tighter around your shoulders and bury your nose down in the collar.

A few minutes passed in relative quiet, until you heard the crunching of boots through snow coming from your right. You perked up when you caught sight of Arthur stepping out from the shed. He wandered over to where you sat huddled against the door and plopped down next to you, much to your surprise.

He was quiet for a moment, and you wandered if you were meant to say something. He looked restless.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he mumbled as he began to dig around in his pockets. He fished out a crinkled pack of cigarettes and lit one on a smoldering log before him. You had noticed this quirk of his, one you think he may have picked up from Dutch. Whenever he needed a boost in confidence, or something that bought him time to organize his thoughts, he lit a cigarette.

“I figured it was about time I pulled my weight again,” you stated, deciding to watch the fire and give Arthur the moment to compose whatever else he was going to say. He merely hummed and took a long drag.

Silence settled between you then, though it wasn’t your typical companionable silence that you shared with the man. There was something more to it, you knew, but you decided not to push it. Not yet.

You waited until Arthur finished off his cigarette, watching as he tossed the butt into the fire. “I never got to thank you for comin’ and findin’ me,” you said quietly, picking absently at a loose string on one of your gloves. You heard the slight rustle of fabric as Arthur turned to look at you.

Another beat of silence.

“So, thank you. I _uhh_ … well, you didn’t have to come for me, but you did, and…”

“Sure, I had to come for you.” You looked up at him, taken a bit aback by his sudden response. His brows were furrowed, and even with the brim of his hat casting them in shadow, you could still make out something akin to concern in his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I have?”

You weren’t sure how to respond.

“I… it’s just… the _rest_ of the gang was a bigger priority. I didn’t think I warranted such… _such…?_ ” Your gaze fell to the fire once more as you tried to find your words. Your heart all but leapt when you felt Arthur’s hand touch yours, carefully at first, like he was looking for permission. You opened your palm to him, letting him lace his fingers between your own.

“Y/n.” You met his gaze once more, struck then by the look of sincerity on his face. “Why don’t you let someone worry about you?”

“Arthur…”

“You matter to this gang just as much as anyone, and don’t you think otherwise.” You were surprised at how genuine he sounded. He looked imploringly into your eyes, leaning in like he was waiting for you to accept his words.

“Arthur, really, it’s fine. I didn’t mean it like that, I just…” you trailed off, unsure of how to continue. You were both quiet for a moment.

“People _care_ about you, Y/n. _I—_ ,” the quiet words caught in Arthur’s throat. He squeezed your hand, and you briefly wondered if it was for your comfort or his own.

Arthur’s heart hammered in his chest as Hosea’s words echoed through his head; flashes of the conversation they had had right before those three gunshots had echoed through the valley. Despite the frigid cold around him, he could feel an uncomfortable heat rising up his neck. It was now or never.

“ _—I_ care.”

Arthur’s voice was low and hushed, and you almost weren’t sure you had heard him right. But then he met your eyes again, and there was something _new_ there, something you couldn’t quite describe. He rubbed at the back of his neck and adjusted his hat, and you were almost afraid he would jump and bolt at the slightest disturbance with how fidgety he had suddenly become.

“Well, I mean I… _um_ …”

“I care about you, too.”

“What?”

You weren’t sure where the burst of confidence had come from, but you certainly weren’t about to squander it. “I mean it, I do. I care about you, Arthur. A lot.”

You put your free hand over the one holding yours and met his troubled gaze.

“Well… then.”

“Well then?”

Arthur let out a slow, steadying breath, looking to the fire, then back to you.

“I’m sorry it took you gettin’ shot for me to finally come to my senses.”

You laughed then, loud and unreserved, and Arthur felt his heart skip a beat in his chest at the sound of it.

“Well, _I’m sorry_ you had to haul my sorry ass out of the snow in the first place,” you snickered, squeezing his hand absentmindedly. He smiled back at you with one of those fond, genuine smiles you loved so much; the little crooked kind that gathered the little wrinkles around his eyes and made the green of his irises alight with joy.

“It was no trouble at all, Miss Y/n,” he breathed as you scooted closer to him.

You hummed as you settled against him, feeling the weight of his arm fall carefully around your shoulders, like he still wasn’t quite sure of himself.

“No trouble at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This was actually my first attempt at writing any sort of fanfic, so it's kinda experimental.
> 
> Tumblr: https://raewrite.tumblr.com/post/179947963534/headlong-into-the-storm


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